about, putting up arches and decorating them;
servants were sweeping, and cooking, and shouting to one another; the
women were talking and laughing. And all the time from within the house
came the sound of the dirge for the dead, and the laugh and the wail
struck against each other, and jarred. No one noticed us for awhile, but
at last a woman saw us, and beckoned us to come. "We are all defiled
to-day; you may sit with us," they said; and yielding to the instincts
of their kindly Tamil nature, they crushed closer together to make room
for us beside them. How I did enjoy being squeezed up there among them.
But to appreciate that in the least you would have to work in a
caste-bound part of old India; you can have no idea, until you try, how
hard it is to refrain from touching those whom you love.

The house door opened upon the verandah, and we could hear the moan of
the dirge. "There is sorrow on the sea; it cannot be quiet." There was
no quietness, only the ceaseless moan, that kept rising into a wail;
there were tears in the sound of the wail, and I felt like a sort of
living harp with all its strings drawn tight.

But the women outside cared nothing at all. It was strange to see how
callous they were. It was not their _own_ who had died, so they chatted
and laughed and watched the proceedings--the tying of the garlands round
the arches, the arrangement of offerings for the Brahmans. It was all
full of interest to them. We tried to turn their thoughts to the Powers
of the World to Come. But no. They did not care.

Presently there was a stir. "The men are coming!" they said. "Run! there
is a shady corner under those palms on the far verandah! Run and hide!
They are here!" And, even as they spoke, in streamed the men, each with
his brass water-vessel poised on his head, and they saw us standing
there. We thought they would turn us out, and were quite prepared to go
at a sign from the head of the clan. But he was a friend of ours, and he
smiled as we salaamed, and pointed to a quiet corner, out of the way,
where we could see it all without being too much seen.

To understand this, which to me was a surprise, one must remember that
by nature the Indian is most courteous, and if it were not for Caste
rules we should be allowed to come much closer to them than is possible
now. To-day they were all ceremonially unclean, so our presence was not
considered polluting. Also the Indian loves a function; sad or glad, it
matters